


(i love you) 'til my breathing stops

by palateens



Series: Lis' Babyfic Bouquet [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Discussion of Abortion, Dissociation, Healing, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Therapy, Trans Character, Transphobia, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, questionable parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-25 15:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Jack gets better, and Kent gets sicker.





	(i love you) 'til my breathing stops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [garden of succulents (staranise)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/gifts).



> welP this series has been a LONG time coming. Actually, it's been something that I've been putting off writing since January 2017 so now that I've finally started it, it's all out there. This universe is super near and dear to my heart, especially this first fic which is a really tender love story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> For [Pimms Week](https://pimmsweek.tumblr.com/) Prompt: Season's Promised

* * *

June 2009

 

The combine comes and goes. The days slip past them. Kent tells Jack not to worry about the draft. He begs him to breathe a little deeper, to sleep in a little more. They don’t know where they’ll be in a month. They should enjoy the moment they still have together, try to be happy.

Jack doesn’t listen. He spirals and disassociates until there’s nothing left of him. He twists his mind until nothing Kent says helps or makes sense anymore. Until it’s easier to hug him quietly and hope it’s enough.

Jack overdoses and Kent goes to the draft alone. Jack flatlines early that morning, and Kent has to pretend like he can breathe. Kent goes to the draft, shakes hands, and smiles broadly for the cameras. Never once does his mind stop screaming about what a traitor he is. He should still be in the hospital, waiting for Jack to let him in. Bob and Alicia said it was better this way.

He spends most of the night in a 24 hour diner, ordering fries and milkshakes. He doesn’t have enough money for his own hotel room, or a cab ride back to the Zimmermann’s. But he has a little. It’s enough to eat until he feels like puking.

Jack goes to rehab and Kent gets shipped to Vegas. Kent calls him every fucking day, begging to hear his voice. It takes two weeks for someone to pick up the phone. It’s Alicia. Turns out Jack’s phone isn’t allowed in with it. He’s never gotten a single one of Kent’s calls.

She says Jack’s getting better. She says he needs some time to rest, away from hockey. The implication punches Kent in the gut. He always thought he was different than hockey in Jack’s mind. He stretched and crushed himself into any shape Jack needed him to be. He thought he was different.

Alicia tells him not to take it personally. Kent says ‘sure’ softly to get her to shut up. He tries not to take it personally. As soon as she hangs up, he’s puking into a trashcan. He hasn’t really stopped puking since the draft.

Jack gets released from rehab eventually. Jack gets better, and Kent gets sicker. Sicker until he can barely stand during practice drills. Until he sleeps whenever he’s off the ice and sometimes drifts when he is.

Kent gets sicker, until one practice he blacks out.

_/.\\_

 

December 2008

 

Jack gives the best kisses. He does them slow yet firm. He says more with his tongue trailing down Kent’s neck than he does with words some days. He puts everything he can’t say to Kent into deep kisses, gentle strokes, and swift fucks.

His tongue does laps around Kent’s cunt whenever he’s too in his head. He says it helps calm him down, doing something physical...intimate. He drags Kent out of parties around midnight when everyone’s too drunk to notice them gone. Most of the time, they’re just as drunk.

Jack fucks him in the back of his car when they’re parked four blocks away from the party. He makes Kent come before he does.

It’s magical. The way Jack’s hair reflects in the moonlight. How hungry his dilated eyes are as he threatens to devour Kent whole. Every mole on Jack’s back that only Kent’s seen. The feeling of the curve of Jack’s nose against his dick as he eats Kent out.

Jack says ‘I love you’, in French after every orgasm. He only says it in French. But every time there’s something soft in Jack’s eyes that tells Kent he’s telling the truth.  

Hockey is hard. The world is a fucked up mess. But they’re ok. They have each other to keep them afloat.

 

_/.\\_

 

July 2009

 

Kent wakes up in a hospital room. His first reaction is to scream. The white walls, the hospital gown on him, the piercing fluorescent lights...it’s all maddening. It taunts him, whispering ‘you killed Jack’ over and over again.

Someone, he thinks a nurse, comes in to settle him down. He hears how she tries to pull him back to reality. He pays attention to that. It feels like it helps. He’s always been shit at helping with panic attacks, especially his own.

He notices people talking outside. It’s the guy he’s billeting with, Smithy, and one of the higher-ups he hasn’t met yet.

“Marcus, this is ridiculous,” the higher-up, shit he might be an owner, says.

“You said you’d give him a chance, Felix,” Smithy says.

“I did, but not all the money in Robert’s estate could fix this. If the media catches wind of this—”

“They won’t,” Smithy says. “It’ll be fine. We’ll handle this quietly.”

“My thoughts exactly. We’ll be terminating Parson’s contract immediately.”

Kent thinks about out of body experiences. About disassociating so hard he’s on a whole ‘nother plane, watching tears stream down his face. This is his livelihood. This is future. What is he supposed to do know? He can fix it, he thinks desperately. Whatever they need him to do he can—  

Smithy comes into the room, giving Kent a sobering, yet meek, grin. He sits gingerly on the side of Kent’s bed.

“Listen, kid—”

“What did I do?” Kent rasps. “Whatever it is—”

“You’re pregnant,” he says.

Kent feels his head swim. His lungs feel like they’re collapsing. The nurse has to come back in to help steady him.

“You’re fucking with me,” Kent says eventually.

“‘Fraid not,” Smithy says.

“I can take care of it,” he says without thinking. “It’s no problem. I can—”

“Whatever you do is your choice,” Smithy says. “But the higher-ups don’t care. They’ve made their decision.”

Kent licks his lips. Their chapped and probably sore from all the vile that’s gone through them lately. Pregnant, the word tumbles around in his head like a lead weight. He’s pregnant. He and Zimms are—  

“What do you mean? That’s it,” Kent says instead. “What the fuck.”

Smithy puts a hand on his shoulder, sighing.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says. “I tried to fight it for you. Their transphobia is bullshit.”

“But…”

“You being pregnant reminded them that you’re different. They don’t like different. They think it’s dangerous.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Kent says.

Smithy chuckles, it makes everything hurt a little less.

“I convinced them to let you keep your signing bonus, alright?”

Kent nods. It’s not a whole lot comparatively. But ten thousand should be enough to get him back home. To help him with the ba—the issue.

“I’ll pay for your ticket home, alright?” Smithy tells him.

Kent does a double take. “No, dude, you can’t. It’s—”

“It’s the least I can do for you,” he says firmly. “You’re one of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen and you’ve got a hell of a PK. I wish I could’ve done more.”

Kent, despite it being the second worst day of his life so far, needs to comfort Smithy. It’s this compulsion he gets every so often when things are too hard for him. He just, focuses on other people and making their lives easier. He hugs Smithy tightly and pretends it’s him crying into Kent’s shoulder, not the other way around.

Smithy gets him a one way, non-refundable ticket back to New York. Kent thinks it’s better that way. This way he can’t do something stupid like end up in front of a townhouse in Montreal or a ranch house outside of Flagstaff. Part of him wants to go to Flagstaff, track down his other mom. Ask her how did she know when she stopped loving him. If he’s even capable of love with how much she broke and mangled his heart.

He’d ask if he was ever good enough for her love. If she’d be happy with him if he’d just stayed her prized figure skater. Her one shot at redemption. His mom, his real one, the one who stayed and raised him and Izzy, would tell him that all of that has more to do with Gina than him. That a parent’s job is to love their child unconditionally and to do anything in their power to make sure they’re happy and healthy, not the other way around.

The entire plane ride back, he thinks about Mariana. About how she stayed in the closet for a few years until the custody battles were over; until the courts couldn’t take him and Izzy away from her. He thinks of how she saved and scrounged for his top surgery before she ever thought about HRT for herself.

Kent leaves a hand on his stomach the entire subway ride home. When he opens the apartment, Izzy and Ma are just sitting down for dinner. Ma takes one look as his worn out expression and the hand on his stomach, and she knows. She hugs him tightly, saying everything’s going to be ok.

He hugs her back, sobbing into her chest. He’s always liked that his mom is taller than him, that she can always make him feel safe and cared for with a single hug. He hasn’t seen much of her in the last three years. It occurs to him that he won’t have to miss her anymore. He won’t spend the next fifteen to twenty years fighting to balance family time and work. He can see them every fucking day now. He gets to be a part of a family again.

Ma tells him he’ll be alright. He’s inclined to believe her.    

 

_/.\\_

 

“So, what are we doing,” Mariana asks a few days later.

The panaderia is slow right now. As it usually is at 3pm on a Sunday. The whole block is pretty somber this time of day, especially during the summer when the hot concrete burns everything in sight. Some people are using the public pool, and some kids are splashing in the fountain of the park not too far from there. Most people are taking afternoon naps or watching baseball on their TVs.

No one needs a pan dulce right now. They want ice cream. Kent thinks about how much it would cost to add a soft serve machine to the store.

“Kenny,” Ma says.

“What?”

“What are you going to do about…”

“About what?”

“The pregnancy, sweetie,” she says.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, I’m not sure yet.”

It hasn’t really sunk in yet, that he’s pregnant. The puking (morning sickness, he’s been told) has subsided for the most part. He can keep things down now that he actually knows what’s wrong and what not to eat. Plus, the ginger from the herbal remedies shop a few blocks down has been pulling a lot of weight in that department. It’s hard for him to equate months of sex with Jack to a fertilized egg, to a fucking spawn that’s growing in him.

“Mijo,” Ma says with a sigh. “I love you, and I will support whatever you want to do. But if you’d rather not be pregnant, you’re on a bit of a deadline.”

Abortion laws, he realizes.

“Right, uh, do I get a few days? At least?”

Ma hugs him like he might break if she doesn’t hold him together. If she were anyone else, he’d probably tell her to stop coddling him. But his mom would do anything for him. So he knows she means well, and maybe she needs a fucking hug too. It’s hard on all of them, watching his hockey career go down the drain. They were counting on that money.

At least the signing bonus went into a down payment for buying the whole building. Someday, it’ll be theirs. They won’t have to worry about rent prices changing on a dime or landlords who don’t know how to manage paper clips let alone renovations.

Someday Kent won’t feel like such a failure for ruining their lives.

“We’ll be ok, Ma,” Kent says.

“I know, baby,” she says. “I just need to know that whatever you do, your heart’s in the right place.”

He trembles as he nods. “I’ll try,” he says.

It’s all he can promise.

 

_/.\\_

 

May 2009

 

They win the Memorial Cup. It takes all of Kent’s will power not to kiss Jack then and there. Jack whispers, “I wish I could kiss you,” into his ear. Kent has to blink tears away. That isn’t something for them. That isn’t a life they get to have. Maybe someday, but not here.

“I know,” Kent murmurs back. “If we could, I would.”

The celebration party is wild. It’s so loud, Kent can’t feel his own heartbeat. It rages on for hours. Someone convinces him to have a shot, and then another. It’s fine, he thinks. They’ve earned this. He doesn’t watch Jack as carefully as he normally does. For once, he isn’t worried about how much xanax Jack took that morning or how much he’s had to drink.

So when Jack finds him and drags him out of the party, he doesn’t protest. He isn’t sober enough to care where they’re going. Jack leads him to the basement of his billet family’s house. They sneak in through a window instead of going through the front door. Jack fucks him on the floor of the basement, and then in the bathroom, and then the bedroom. He fucks Kent in the closet. Kent has to keep himself from laughing the entire time. It’s funny how ironic it is.

Eventually, Jack tires himself out and takes Kent to bed. Jack wraps himself around Kent in the afterglow. He murmurs shit that doesn’t make sense—about love and settling down someday. About a how they could get with a big yard and two dogs.

Kent nods, thinking Jack is too drunk for this shit.

Jack kisses him softly. “Next year, we’ll buy a house. Anywhere you want.”

Kent laughs, kissing his collar bone. “Yea? How come?”

“You deserve it,” Jack says softly. “I want everything for you.”

He kisses Jack, partially to shut him up before he promises Kent the Taj Mahal, and partially to say how much he loves him too. Everything is not perfect. It’s honestly getting harder by the day to function and take care of Jack. But then there are moments like this. When Jack’s eyes are soft and all he cares about is them being together.

Kent holds onto these fleeting moments like a lifeline.

 

_/.\\_

 

August 2009

 

Kent has a dream one night. It’s about a baby with Izzy’s face and Jack’s eyes. The baby smiles at Kent like he’s the only thing in the world. Kent holds onto that baby for as long as physically possible, until someone snatches it away. All he can hear after that is a baby wailing in total darkness. The baby’s cries turn into his own.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. Sitting up as he wipes his tear streaked face. Kent checks the time. It’s 4:38am. He sighs, falling back against his pillow. He groans. He has to be up in twenty minutes anyway.

His hand finds its way to his stomach. He rubs it slowly, feeling the first signs of a curve jutting up from his hips. It’s real. It’s in there. It’s half of him and half of Jack. It might be the only piece of Jack he’ll ever have. He can’t get rid of it.

“We’re ok,” he says quietly. “It was just a dream. You’re safe. I got you.”

Kent continues to murmur to his belly until his alarm goes off. He tells it things as he gets ready. Trivial things like what outside looks like, and what he’s going to wear today. His jeans are a little tighter than normal so he opts for a pair of leggings. He wears his glasses instead of his contacts. He stares at himself in the mirror for a good long minute.

“Guess this is happening, huh?” he says, still staring at himself.

He logically knows it’s him. But his face looks...different. Feels less frantic and ragged. Like he’s gotten his first decent night of sleep in years.

“We can do this,” Kent says quietly, turning away from the mirror and heading downstairs to the panaderia. “We got this, kid.”

_/.\\_

 

Mariana all but shoves Kent into therapy after he tells her he’s keeping the baby. She swears up and down that she would have regardless, and Kent unfortunately knows that’s true. Therapy is weird. It’s something listening to him talk about himself more than actually comfortable and giving feedback on shit he doesn’t really want to think about.

If it were just him, he’d probably shrug her suggestions off and quit after a few sessions. But it’s not just him. He has his family’s livelihood to think about. He has a baby that gets bigger and more noticeable every day. He owes it to all of them to try his best to get better.

So he gives therapy his all. He journals as much as he’s told to, and does all his homework. He buys workbooks and takes all the handouts his therapist gives him. He treats it like hockey, like a goal. He wants to get why he’s so fucked up so he can work on unlearning shit. It’s frustrating and disappointing when he can’t test out of mental illness. But trying his hardest helps.

It makes it easier to reel himself in when his hormones fuck with his mood. When he could be an asshole because Izzy leaves her clothes everywhere and it’s getting harder for him to see where he’s walking, but decides against it. When people talk behind his back about why he didn’t “stay a girl,” and what a shame it is that he got knocked up. When his clothes get too tight and he has to wear leggings and Gina’s old maternity shirts. When he would give anything to be in Jack’s arms again so he could cry and then scream at him for leaving.

He works on keeping a level head, learning his emotions, and then learning to let go.

It isn’t easy, nor fun. But it makes his life so much easier. Whenever he gets upset and the baby starts kicking, he rubs his belly gently and takes deep breaths. It’s not just about him anymore. He has to be better, for both of them.

 

_/.\\_

 

It’s November and he’s six months pregnant. The baby is a girl (for now, until she figures out her gender, he thinks). Kent hasn’t called Jack’s phone in a few months. He’s been too wrapped up in getting his life in order. But now it’s better, more stable. His kid deserves more than one parent, and Jack deserves to know his daughter. So he calls the Zimmermans’ home phone and takes slow breaths. He murmurs to the baby that everything’s going to be ok. It has to be, for her sake.

“Hello?” Alicia says when she picks up on the third ring.

“Mrs. Zimmermann, hi,” Kent says tightly.

“Kent, how are you?”

“Fine, uh, is Jack home?”

“I’m afraid not,” Alicia says. “Can I take a message?”

Irrationally, he wonders if that’s true or not. If Jack’s sitting up in his room, watching documentaries. He wonders if Jack would take his call if he knew Kent was calling. The last few years run through Kent’s mind. Bob and Alicia weren’t around much, and didn’t parent for shit. But when they thought Jack was in danger, there’s nothing that can stop them from protecting him.

Kent sighs, rubbing his temple. He imagines the custody battle that would arise if they found out they had a grandchild being raised in Harlem. He could see them easily throwing money around until they found judges who would side with them. They could bury him under a pile of legal fees and debt if they wanted to. They could take his baby from him. She’s the only thing in the world that matters to him anymore, and they could just take her if they doubted his parenting abilities for a second. They ripped Jack away from him, who’s to say the wouldn’t do it again with his kid?

“Can you just tell him to call me whenever he can?” he rasps. “It’s important.”

After a moment of silence, Alicia clears her throat. “Alright, I’ll tell him to give you a call when he gets a chance.”

Kent is pleasant in saying goodbye to her. The second the call drops, he falls against the couch, trying to keep himself from breaking down. Everything’s going to be alright, he keeps telling the baby.

It has to be.

_/.\\_

 

December comes and so does insesant kicking, major heartburn, and unexpected holiday weight. He isn’t eating more than normal. He wasn’t showing a whole lot to begin with and one morning he wakes up and the baby’s just...bigger than the night before. He takes pictures with the camera Jack bought and then left in Kent’s room last summer. He thinks one day Jack will want to see what he missed, how their kid came to be.

He searches the used bookstores nearby until he finds a baby book. He starts filling it with sonograms, belly photos, and random worksheets he found online. He adds things from his journal because he thinks they’re sort of sentimental and he wants his kid to know how much he loves her.  

He starts a folder meticulously documenting everything he’s done for her—doctor visits, his (meager) income, progress in therapy, his goals for therapy, and every time he’s called Jack’s house to tell him they were having a kid that fell through. He opens up another savings account, just for the baby’s future. For school and emergency money, and just...in case she needs anything and he isn’t there. He wants to make sure she’s always taken care of.

She kicks whenever he hums, only settling down when he really sings. He sings her whatever’s on his ipod when she won’t settle. Kent tells her everything as he does it so he has practice. So she knows the sound of his voice and how he’ll always be straight with her.

Christmas dinner isn’t as terrible as he expected it to be. It’s mostly his family forcing him to sit every five seconds and fondling his belly. Thankfully only one person asks about breastfeeding.

“I might be able to but who knows, next question,” Kent says tersely.

The message is received loud and clear. Which is good, the last thing he wants to think about is how his chest has gotten puffy. Not nearly as bad as before his top surgery. He’s fine with his hips getting wider...and his butt...and all of that shit as long as he never has to have full on boobs ever again. It took him having a baby to realize he’s more top dysphoric than anything.

He hasn’t bleached his hair in months. It’s short, brown and curly. It’s like him being a hockey player never happened. It’s like Kent Parson never existed and Kenny Vasquez can go on with his life. Sometimes it’s a good thing that he can blend back into the shadows. Some days, it really sucks.

“It’s Jack’s isn’t it,” his cousin Estella asks while everyone is chatting over desert.

“Yea,” he says quietly, stabbing a spoon into his flan.

“So there you go,” she says confidently. “He’s crazy about you. You’ll be fine.”

Kent wants to chew her out and tell her to mind her own fucking business. He breathes in slowly. She means well. She doesn't know what she’s talking about, but she wants what’s best for him. She can’t possibly understand how fucking wrong she is about Jack.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t know that he has to care, or why. It’s not his fault, but not something Kent can just ignore.

“I hope so,” Kent says finally.

Estella is convinced enough to start talking about the internship she has with City Hall next semester. She’s brilliant, he thinks. She’s going to go places and help everyone. That was supposed to be his job. He was supposed to save the family. What else was he good for?

He sighs, making a mental note to work more through his fucking martyr complex with his therapist in two weeks. He can’t afford every week and he doesn’t really need it anymore. He’s gotten over the initial trauma of the draft. He’s had his grief. He’s steadier overall now.

Kent stabs his flan with a spoon until there isn’t much left. He makes his excuses and then waddles to bed. He spends the next few hours telling the baby how great her papa is. About how much he loves her and how he’s off getting better so he can be a good parent for her.

Kent swallows thickly, repeating the words over and over again.

“Your papa loves you so much,” he says.

He has to get better at saying it. She needs to grow up believing it. He needs to be ready to do and be everything for her. Jack or not, this is happening now. Life is moving forward. He’s having a baby, _his_ baby.

 

_/.\\_

 

2010 rolls in slowly. Kent doesn’t stay up for the ball drop. A year ago, he thought he’d be spending New Year’s Eve with Jack, getting wasted at some ritzy party above Time Square or out in Las Vegas. In reality, he heads to sleep around 10pm because the he’s almost eight months pregnant and the baby doesn’t often fall asleep at a reasonable hour. She wakes him up around three in the morning so he sings softly and then puts on old interviews of Jack. He’s trying to get her to learn his voice. Maybe someday he’ll introduce her to her papa and she’ll be able to recognize his voice. Maybe that’ll make Jack love her enough.

He has to work less at the panaderia because she’s too big for him to be standing for a full shift. Izzy picks up the second half of his shift when his back aches too much. Despite his insistence that he can handle it, she kicks him out and makes him go back upstairs. Izzy’s stubborn for a fifteen year old so he stops being allowed to work by the end of January.

He’s been studying in his free time for months. He’s trying to sit for as many AP tests this year as he can. He took a few courses last semester through CUNY and he’ll take more over the summer. He’s trying to get a bachelors in business or math. He hasn’t decided yet.

All he knows is that he can’t do a whole lot without a college degree. He probably needs a master’s degree too if he’s going to make a salary above the poverty line doing who knows what with a liberal arts degree. That’s why he’s trying to speed through undergrad. He’s doing what he can to get enough credits so he won’t be drowning in debt. This is a goal he can achieve. He’s good at school and great at multitasking.

He can’t analyze tape so the least he can do is get a fucking education.

 

_/.\\_

 

He tries calling Jack again. It works about as well as it did the last time. He marks it down as another failed attempt. He tries not to hold it against Bob for making up a weak excuse (which it was, because Bob said Jack was canoe...para...skiing, which doesn’t exist). Kent gets it, much to his own chagrin. Bob and Alicia would do anything for their kid. And so would he.

That’s why he’s determined to call them once a month until they fucking let him talk to Jack. Or disconnect their phone. He’ll see what happens first. At least if they cut him off, he’ll have more ammo to prove that they never let him tell Jack about the baby.

Kent sighs, rubbing the spot where the baby is kicking. He thinks he has a name for her, but he doesn’t want to try it until he sees her face. He looks ready to pop, and he feels it in every sore muscle and swollen body part. He hasn’t moved much from the couch in the last few days, preferring to be where the TV is to keep his mind occupied and within shouting distance of the shop downstairs.

Izzy will come and check on him during her break and probably chastise him into putting an ice pad on his back. Ma will probably bring him dinner instead of making him get up to sit at the table. He’d move if he could, but the baby is huge and three days past her due date.

The last thing he wants is to be locked up in a hospital longer than he has to. It’s something he’s been working on with his therapist, his newfound fear of them. He’s moved past sheer terror and into warriness. He can stand to be in one for a few hours while he pushes his kid out, but not more than he absolutely has to.

Kent changes the channel when something comes up about hockey and an exclusive interview with Robert Zimmermann. He thinks someday he’ll find his way back to Jack and they can figure out a co-parenting arrangement. But for now, it’s Kent, his mom, sister, and the baby.

 

_/.\\_

 

February 2010

 

Kent wakes up from an afternoon with a searing pain in his lower belly. He breathes through the pain. He rides out another dozen contractions before he makes himself get up. He pees and then changes into pajamas that can pass as street clothes. He flips on the 24 hour news channel and lays on his side on the couch.

He gets through an hour of that before he flips it to something less depressing. He doesn’t find anything until he lands on a channel showing one of Alicia’s old movies, _Mystic Pizza_. He thinks about his baby being told she looks like a movie star and never knowing how fucking true it is.

He keeps it on because he’s a sadist. He lies there until he gets sick of the position and starts waddling around the apartment. After a few laps he goes back. The contractions get worse. He moans through the pain.

Izzy finds him eventually, sobbing into his body pillow because it’s too fucking much. It’s all too much. She runs back downstairs. Eventually, Ma comes to help him go down the stairs. They take a cab to the nearest hospital. Traffic gives the contractions enough time to get worse, but not unbearable.

They get to the hospital eventually. Kent’s triaged to see if he’s far enough along. He’s six and half centimeters. He wants to call bullshit. He’s been in pain for hours. But they tell him that’s really good and pretty far along all things considered. He’d love nothing more than to punch someone right about now.   

The hours fly by. Nurses come in and out, checking his cervix way too fucking often for his liking. He tries to nap a few times. He doesn’t take an epidural because he swears up and down breaking bones in hockey while on his period is far worse. No one argues with him...until he takes it back around 1am and says they’re about the same.

The baby crowns a half and hour later. Ma and the nurses help him get into a squatting position as the doctor tells him to get ready to push. Kent screams as he does. It fucking hurts on every single level. He thinks he hears himself crying. Crying because he can’t control the fucking world he’s bringing his daughter into. Crying because he can’t give her everything he’d dreamed of when the NHL was still in his grasp. Crying that she may never know her other dad and may one day hate Kent for that.

Kent sobs as he pushes her shoulders out because he wants nothing more than for Jack to be here, but know he’ll never come.

The moment Kent lays eyes on her, he knows she’s the love of his life.

Julia Marie Vasquez Zimmermann is born at 2:14am on February 19th, 2010. She’s nineteen inches long and weighs six pounds. She has Kent’s nose and Jack’s hair. She cries until someone puts her in Kent’s arms. He kisses her through tears.

“You’re ok, we’re ok,” Kent whispers as her cries dissolve into whimpers. “It’s ok, Jules. I got you. We’re gonna be fine.”

She snuggles into him for warmth. She doesn’t open her eyes, but it’s alright. She doesn’t have to yet. He’ll think she’s beautiful no matter what they look like. She’ll always be perfect to him, and he’ll do everything in his power to make sure she gets everything in life that she needs and wants. He knows he’ll do it all with a fucking smile. It’s the least he can do. She’s saved already him, just by existing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from Writer in the Dark by Lorde  
> alt. title - my mother's child 
> 
> like I said, it's a love story. Just one about a parent overcoming everything to give their child the best life possible. More to come <3


End file.
